


Beneath the Surface

by PerpendicuIar



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Gen, This isn't really "TicciMask" I just couldn't get the "&" tag to work, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpendicuIar/pseuds/PerpendicuIar
Summary: "Careful," he had said, all mock and no sincerity. "Last thing I need is you drowning."Toby had sneered at that, grit his teeth and bit back an obscenity, a twitch.But then he fell.
Relationships: Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers | Ticci Toby/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Beneath the Surface

_"Careful," he had said, all mock and no sincerity. "Last thing I need is you drowning."_

_Toby had sneered at that, grit his teeth and bit back an obscenity, a twitch._

_"I'm not that stupid, asshole," he had spat with venom. His comment was only met with an exhale that sounded like a laugh, and it made him feel foolish, like he hadn't meant the words he said even though he did with such conviction it would hurt._

_"If anyone's drowning, it's gonna be you, and it'll be because I pushed your fat ass in." Toby hissed, his hand gripping a loose branch. ___

_But then he gripped the branch tighter and pulled to heave himself up, and it snapped, and he fell, and as his words bit him in the ass; his already dark world became nothing more than a blur._

_He couldn't remember if he had heard his name being called, couldn't remember if there was any other sound accompanying the fall of his descent into the karma of his words. He had tumbled and skidded in the wet mud, hands scrabbling for purchase but to no avail. It was all wet dirt and branches, the sound becoming static before his body was enveloped into a freezing wetness that brought his damaged nerves to full alert._

And yet, alert he may be, he makes no move to fight the current that had swept him away, for his mind was at ease.

While the other man turns and stares with wide eyes at where the younger should be standing, quickly identifying the path of flattened bushes, Toby lets the quiet of the river engulf him. While Toby lets himself be claimed by the current, the other throws himself into the river to let the current guide him, lead him to the one it stole away.

 _It's cold,_ Toby thinks. It's his first thought upon opening his eyes, the first thought that crosses his mind, a mind that is strangely empty.

**It may be cold, but it is quiet.**

Toby's eyes glance to the right, a slight movement that serves nothing but to satisfy his own impulses. His mouth parts and he lets some of the air leave his lungs, unaware he had been holding it in to begin with, and lets his eyes travel to the sky on the other side of the surface.

It was loud above the surface. It was always loud, as if the air somehow had a voice while water did not. Even on nights with no breeze, there would still be sounds, even if it was just the ringing in his own ears. But here, here there is no sound. /Here/ is peaceful, and the peacefulness seeps into the cracks and fills the gaps between, heals the damage.

_Yeah, it is._

He can make out the blurry, distorted image of the moon, it's light acting as a beacon for his wandering eyes. It's dim and flickering, but it manages to send beams of soft light through the darkness, shining down on him. The remaining air in his lungs comes out in a burst as his back collides with something solid, but he can't seem to find the care to acknowledge it much. His back is numb and all he can feel is the comforting cold nipping at his limbs.

**It is a shame you cannot stay here.**

He reaches a pale hand out, because for a brief, fleeting moment, he feels as if he can reach through the surface and touch the moon on the other side.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, his eyes slowly closing. He doesn't want to block out the image, but if he doesn't it will be taken from him, and he'd like to be able to trick himself into believing he had chosen to leave this place, that he hadn't been hoping the darkness would swallow him and the river would claim him. _It is._

Before his mind can register, he's thrown through the thin barrier between the beneath and the above, back into the world he wishes to escape, and the roaring of rushing water and crashing rapids fill his ears. He feels his chest hit something solid, a rock, and grunts, arms instinctively wrapping around the rough surface.

He hopes his grip isn't strong enough to prevent the current from pulling him back under if it chooses.

It's loud here, too loud. It's colder than it was when he was beneath, and the moon doesn't look as close anymore. He wants to go back, back to where the moon was just out of reach and the darkness was a friend and not a foe, even if it meant he wouldn't be welcomed. _Anywhere but here,_ he thinks, even though he can barely hear himself think.

But he must be able to hear himself think, because when his name is called out, he can hear it.

 _Tim,_ his thoughts offer, his mind suddenly working again but the nickname nowhere to be found. He cranes his neck to look behind him, shifts his position against the rock just a little too much so he can see where the voice is coming from, but all he sees are rapids and shadows. The rough surface of the rock is slowly scraping him through his clothes, his grip slipping, but and all he can do is squint into the dimly illuminated darkness for the person he shouldn't be so relieved to hear.

And then he sees it, the outline of a person - a person he _knows_ , who he can trust with his life but nothing else, _never_ anything else.

Then he's dragged down again, this time by unforgiving claws that forces him into fight or flight. He fights, hands trying to grip onto the slick rocks and feet trying to find something to ground himself on. His body is thrown from jagged edge to jagged edge, hitting every stone that seemed more like sharp teeth trying to eat him than regular obstacles, but he keeps fighting, kicking and clawing and thrashing because he'll be damned if he has to live the rest of his life with a list of times that bastard saved his ass.

Beneath the surface of the river is not calm like last time, he could feel it the moment he was pulled under. This time it's ruthless, rough and violent like the reality he tries to run away from. His nails tear and scrape at the rocks and the knees of his pants tear on rough edges, his lungs screaming for oxygen every time he's thrown through the barrier. _This_ time, it feels like he's drowning, like the darkness is swallowing every scream it tears from his lungs, like it's playing with it's prey before it eats it.

The rock comes into his blurry view fast, just as his head breaches to the surface again, and he hits it _hard_ and everything goes white, suddenly all too bright.

 _Down_ , he seems to register, head bleeding and leaving a wispy trail of dull red as he sinks into the darkness once more. His vision slowly clears and all he sees are his own hands floating in front of him, _hands that are covered in blood and too dirty to ever dream of grasping the moon with_. Suddenly everything seems futile, _pointless_. Floating within the cold silence that's no match for the ringing in his ears, he narrows his eyes and tries to remember why he had fought, grits his teeth as he tries to find the reason he tried to hold on, tried to find the one who called out his name, why he felt a spark of _something_ when he saw them. _Was it hope? Relief?_

He _tries,_ but like the moon, it's just out of his reach.

So he stops trying.

Instead, he looks to the shadows that have grown darker and remind him of Death. He almost reaches out to them, almost, but he stops himself, because he knows they couldn't take him even if they wanted to. The shadows can prod and poke him, torment him, but they can never have him for he already belongs to something else.

 _Why won't you let me go,_ it's not for the shadows anymore. _WHY ME!?_

Air bubbles come in a rush, and it doesn't dawn on him that he's screaming into the void until he has no breath left to form words with. _Why did it have to be me,_ he wills himself to breathe in, filling his lungs with water. It's cold and it feels _wrong_ , but once the first breath is taken his body starts panicking and he can't stop himself from choking and exhaling and trying to _breathe_.

He can't see the movement within the darkness, and even if he could it would change nothing, because his eyes close before it reaches him and his body stops needing air.

He doesn't feel something crash into him and grab his arm, nor does he feel it fighting against the depths and hauling him to the surface where the air is cold and the world is loud. He doesn't feel them wrap their arm around underneath his and across his chest when they break the barrier, but they do. They keep his back to their chest and his head above water, kicking against the current and bracing themselves against the sharp teeth of the river with their free hand.

Toby doesn't _see_ them pivot so their back takes the brunt of an impact with a sharp rock, shielding him from being crushed, doesn't _hear_ them grunt in pain or feel them push off from the obstacle, but they do.

They fight, and unlike Toby, don't fall victim to the rivers icy claws and empty promises. Why, however, is a mystery.

Toby's eyes don't open when he's finally dragged from the river, doesn't move or cough when he's dropped onto his back and a steady hand turns his head to the side, and his doesn't respond when his nose is punched closed and a mouth is crushed against his.

He does, however, respond after air is forced into his lungs and the water comes up like projectile vomit and into the face of the man who breathed life back into him.

Toby's coughing and sputtering and spitting up water, sits up before he registers he's doing so, but he swears he can hear the distant laughter of the man who was now beside him, wiping the spit from his face and grinning an empty sort of grin that didn't meet the eyes.

"What was that about _me_ being the one drowning tonight?" Toby hears him say, hears the mock in his voice, and he tries to tell the other to shut up but he's too busy coughing and twitching and trying to swear through his fits for air. "Stop trying to talk, moron. Just breathe before you choke on air." Tim's tone is calm, apathetic, if not a little shaky from the cold.

Toby glares at him, makes a note to start calling him by the childish nickname that doesn't fit his character, but listens, and eventually he can breathe without choking again. By then the moment has passed and there would be no point in kicking up old dust, so instead he lets himself collapse back to the ground, eyes staring up at the night sky. It looks different when it's not being gazed upon from underwater; the moon is very far now, but it's also very clear.

He wants to reach out to it, but he knows it's too far now, and he doesn't need to embarrass himself further.

"Why.... can some people never have what they're looking for...?" Toby's voice comes out small and raspy, and he has to bite back curses and noises that threaten to break his sentence, tries to ignore the taste of stale tobacco in his mouth. The other man raises his brow, turning his head to look at him with an amused expression.

"What makes you think it's what you're really looking for?" Tim finally asks, his gaze turning back to the sky as his arms stretch up to fold behind his head. Toby frowns and a curse leaves his lips, his arm twitching and other hand coming up to hit his own chest as another noise escapes past his lips.

"Sometimes you ju-just kn-" he bites his tongue to stop himself from shouting, continues where he left off because he knows the other is accustomed to his patchy sentences, "know." Not that he would have to finish his sentence for the other to understand.

"Sometimes, what you think you know, is wrong."

"Fucking cunt!" Toby sits up and turns to glare at the other. "That's not what I meant an-" but the other doesn't give Toby the chance to finish.

"Sometimes we can't have what we're looking for," Tim says, voice still calm and steady, filled with a conviction that makes Toby feel as if his answer was truth and everything else was a lie. "Sometimes we only think we're looking for it because it's what we want," he continues, and Toby's anger slowly fizzles out into a dim confusion, "but we can't always have what we want."

"Why not?" Toby responds almost too suddenly, voice loud. He's annoyed and confused but for the wrong reasons, looking for answers he knows he doesn't want to believe. Tim lets his head fall to the side so he can look at Toby, catch the moon in his eyes.

"Maybe because it's not what you need," Tim finally says, lips curling up a bit more. "Maybe, when you finally have it, you'll realize it's not what you were looking for after all. Maybe you'll realize it wasn't what you needed, and you won't ever get the years you spent chasing it back."

And that answer seems to be satisfactory, because Toby looks away and tilts his head to study the sky again.

The moon is very far now, but it's clear. There is no lie that tells him he can grasp it, because some things aren't meant to be grasped, some things are not supposed to be touched or held. Some things are merely meant to be looked at, because if they were obtained, the person who obtained them wouldn't know what to do with them, might destroy themselves when they realize it wasn't what they were looking for.

He wants to be free, but he wouldn't know what to do if he was.

He wants to remember, but he doesn't know if what he forgot is worth remembering.

So, instead of reaching out for something that is too far away, too clean to be tainted by his blood stained hands, he gazes, and hopes that one day it will come to him. _One day_ , he thinks, because the idea of that day never coming is too painful to entertain.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 - 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 (𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗)" while writing this. It seemed fitting


End file.
